


First Impressions

by dashwood



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Liz is channeling Megan's feminism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/pseuds/dashwood
Summary: Liz is already having a hard enough time teaching unruly trainees at Quantico. She certainly doesn't need the newest addition to the faculty - Admiral Raymond Reddington - throwing any more stones in her way. Blacklist Hiatus Exchange Gift for gregwillray who requested a College AU.





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gregwillray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregwillray/gifts).



> This AU was something I had been wanting to read for a long time now, so I was glad to finally have a reason to actually work on it. I hope it's what you had in mind, gregwillray; enjoy!

“He’s a loner. Keeps his distance and travels freely through distant lands - he’s rootless.”

Liz pauses, biting her bottom lip in thought as she further observes her current object of study as if he were not a decorated Admiral currently on loan to their criminal justice faculty department but rather a particularly interesting specimen of a rare insect caught underneath the cellophane glass of her microscope.

“He’s very comfortable here, entertaining a willing audience with a witty anecdote or sharing his thoughts on Milton or Hobbs, but he’d feel just as comfortable sleeping in a cave with rebels or sharing dinner in some hole-in-the-wall noodle shop.”

She watches as his fingers trail absentmindedly over the messy disarray of papers lying scattered on his desk, a sea of white spluttered across the desk’s wooden surface. He doesn’t do it on purpose. Instead it’s almost as if his hands have a mind of their own, grand gestures underlining the wildest of tales, adding emphasis where needed. The way he moves speaks volumes, and Liz thinks that she could very well write a whole dissertation just on the shape of his fingers. The way they move so gracefully, hinting at a whole world of rhetoric splendor that lies past them in the imagination of his mind – shining, shimmering, slender.

“His closest friends are strangers,” she eventually muses, clicking her tongue in concentration as she leans a bit closer to Ressler. She’s careful to speak in a hushed whisper so as not to disturb the trainees whose attention remains riveted solely on the man standing in the very center of the lecture hall’s bullpen.

“He believes that tight bonds can make him vulnerable-”

At this, Ressler snorts in derision.

“What, you get all that from twenty minutes of  _this_? So far, he hasn’t even said anything interesting. Right now he’s telling us about the last time he went fishing.”

“Yes, but if you think of those Mexican fish he mentioned earlier as a metaphor for his failed marriage-”

The rest of her argument dies on her lips as someone clears their throat rather pointedly. Liz winces, her features drawn into a guilty grimace as she slowly turns her attention away from Ressler and to the front of the lecture hall where their person of interest, her subject of study, and the very center of everyday watercooler talk in the staff room - Admiral Raymond Reddington - is staring right back at her with an unamused frown on his face.

“Did you have a question?”

His pointed question is promptly accompanied by a cacophony of groaning chairs as the trainees turn in their seats to glare at them, clearly vexed at the interruption of what they consider to be a captivating tale.

Next to her, Ressler sputters in embarrassment.

“No, we were just-”

“Yes, actually.” Sitting up straight in her seat, Liz pushes her shoulders back in defiance. “When you mentioned having assisted in capturing the Deer Hunter earlier, did you seriously mean to imply that you were specifically looking for a female killer? Because considering the early murders - which couldn’t have been any more obviously committed by a  _man_  - I don’t see how your capturing the right person could have been anything more but a lucky guess.”

Her comment is succeeded by an awed silence as everyone turns their gaze back onto Reddington, anticipating his reply with baited breath. She’d be proud of herself - of gaining a foothold in his classroom, of managing to draw his willing audience away from him - if it weren’t for the look on Reddington’s face. Because much to her dismay, he doesn’t look annoyed or even embarrassed at having been put on the spot. If anything, he looks almost delighted at the challenge she has thrown his way. His eyes seem to positively lighten up as his lips spread into a sluggish smile.

“That would make an excellent topic for further discussion. If you’d care to stay back after class, Ms…”

He trails off, angling his upper body towards his desk to touch the pads of his fingers to the list of names lying amid the stacks of well-worn hardcovers and mismatched sheets of paper on his desk. Still, his eyes never leave her face and Liz suppresses the irrational shiver of intimidation that runs down her spine - somehow, the intensity of his stare makes her feel insecure, as if he is the hunter and she is fair game.

“Keen. Elizabeth Keen.” She says after a moment. Thankfully, her voice comes out steady enough. “I’m not actually a trainee though. I teach various beginners classes on Profiling along with the Introduction to Psychology courses for the first years.”

If possible his face seem to brighten up even more.

“A colleague!”

“Well yes. But not for much longer. I’ll move to D.C. as soon as the FBI gets back to me on-” Suddenly conscious of the many trainees currently listening in to their conversation Liz clamps her mouth shut and shrugs her shoulders in what she hopes passes for careless nonchalance.

“On something.” She finishes a bit lamely, inwardly cringing at herself. What a way to make a first impression. Just wonderful.

Reddington doesn’t seem fazed though. “Big plans?”

“I’m looking to join Cooper’s special taskforce of criminal profilers.”

“Oh? I always thought the FBI’s special profiling unit was quite the men’s club.”

“I hope to change that. Why, do you know anyone on the team?”

“Ah no,” Reddington shakes his head, looking slightly sheepish now. “But I  _have_  read  _Silence of the Lambs_.”

All around them the trainees snicker in startled schadenfreude, the vibrant sound echoing against the walls of the lecture hall before it is thrown back in her face, and Liz can feel herself starting to flush with the biting stabs of white-hot humiliation at once. Surely there’s a witty comeback to being sassed by a new colleague in front of a whole classroom filled with viciously young - and therefore unforgivably cruel and unforgetting - fresh-out-of-college Quantico trainees.

If there is it won’t come to her.

Thankfully, Ressler is there to claw her out of her frozen state. Within mere seconds he’s up on his feet, tugging at her wrist to maneuver her past the row of empty seats to their right and towards the large door at the back.

“There’s been a sudden staff emergency. See you around, Admiral.”

As Ressler’s trying to push her out of the room Liz keeps twisting in his grip to glare at Reddington. He looks slightly startled at the sudden turn of events, she thinks. His face is pulled into a deep frown that could almost pass as regretful - if she didn’t know any better, that is.

Liz isn’t sure if the doors close behind them quickly enough to drown out her enraged cries (“What the hell is wrong with that guy?!”). But then again – she isn’t sure that she even cares whether Reddington heard or not.

 

\--

 

Fortunately, Quantico is big enough to avoid certain people if needed. She’s done it often enough: gone out of her way to dodge a particularly insistent sophomore with a crush, or bypass an overbearing parent. She once managed to scramble out of Ressler's way for a whole week, back when she had forgotten his birthday.

Given her previous experience with avoiding people staying out of Reddington’s way should be child’s play. At least until she could think of some witty (and equally hurtful) comeback to hurl in his face the next time they crossed paths.

It worked for a few days, too.

Oh yes, she had to go out of her way to go out of his: opting to use the elevator next to the broken vending machine on the second floor instead of the one sitting right beside her office. Taking a detour to keep out of the hallway leading straight to Reddington’s office. Taking her lunch break in the attic as opposed to the staff room (she marked the latter down as a true loss. Because while charming, the attic grew way too hot during summer).

And she would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling staff members.

Liz suppresses an annoyed groan when she walks into her surrogate break room only to find Reddington chatting animatedly with Samar. He’s sitting right next to her favorite spot, too, the one right beside the battered-up vending machine (whose coffee isn’t necessarily any worse or less watered-down than the one in the staff room anyway. At least that’s what she keeps telling herself).

Reddington turns towards her almost immediately, and once again Liz feels like the unwitting prey who has stepped right into the hunter’s well-placed trap. Their eyes meet across the room, and for a split second Liz is taken aback by the way his face seems to light up at the sight of her.

“Lizzy!” He exclaims, smiling brightly while lifting his hand to wave her over. “I saved you a seat.”

And wow, what a feat that must have been, Liz thinks with a roll of her eyes as she walks past several empty chairs to pointedly settle herself on an ancient armchair sitting in the opposite corner of the room.

(Okay, so maybe she’s being a bit petty. But so what? It’s not as if he doesn’t deserve it!)

While she busies herself with pulling out her packed lunch - a messily-made (and slightly torched) PB&J - Liz takes a moment to ponder whether she should maybe ease up on her grudge. However, she quickly dismisses her guilt when Reddington plops down on the empty chair right next to her just a moment later.

She should have thrown her bag onto it, Liz realizes. She clearly hadn’t thought this one through. Or maybe she had (foolishly) thought that he would be more adept at reading social cues. Her bad.

With an annoyed sigh, Liz looks up from her lunch. Neither of them says anything and Liz wonders why he had approached her in the first place. Couldn't he just go back to bothering Samar? From the looks of it she wouldn't mind his company too much.

Eventually, Reddington clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“I have a confession to make.” He finally says, biting the inside of his cheek in what Liz believes to be a nervous tick.

“Though it is undoubtedly charming, I don’t usually frequent this particular break room - the coffee is simply-” He breaks off, huffing a breath of laughter while shaking his head as if sharing a secret joke with himself. When Liz doesn’t share in with his amusement he sobers and turns serious once again.

“There is this absolutely endearing little bistro down the street which serves the most marvelous pecan pie…” His voice trails off and for a split second Liz wonders if this is her cue to join the conversation and say something. But just as quickly she remembers that - regardless of conversational patterns and polite etiquette - she simply doesn’t  _want_  to talk to him.

Still, Reddington doesn’t seem to understand her unwillingness to play nice.

“Maybe you would want to-”

That insufferable, unbelievably arrogant-

“No, thank you.”

Reddington’s mouth snaps shut at once and for the briefest of moments Liz actually feels bad. But then she remembers sitting in the middle of his lecture hall, all eyes trained on her. The mocking laughter and – most of all – the silent lambs.

She quickly abandons the train of thought - her little detour down memory lane - when she feels the back of her eyes start to burn. And god, she can barely imagine the humiliation that would pierce at her insides if Reddington were to see her cry. She’d never be able to face him again.

Although Liz keeps her gaze determinedly on the dirty white walls next to the window she can see the slight nod of his head from the corner of her eyes. She can’t quite make out his exact expression without fully acknowledging his presence, but Liz thinks that he looks almost disappointed. Rejected.

Good.

“For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry for how I… misspoke the other day. I certainly hadn’t meant to offend you.”

Finally, Liz whips her face in his direction to snarl at him even as a vicious growl claws its way past her lips.

“You don’t understand, do you? You probably thought you were being funny and cute - but can you even imagine how hard it is for me to be taken seriously? I am barely older than any of those trainees. Respect is something I have to earn. Plus, I’m a woman in a dominantly male academic field, so I really don’t need old, white men like you drawing attention to the fact that I’m just here because I’m clearly not good enough to play with the big guys.”

With one last glare in his direction, Liz grabs her things and storms out of the room.

 

\--

 

Two days later she gets a call from Harold Cooper - not his secretary or an overworked intern, but from the man himself. However, the initial surge of excitement that rushes through her upon picking up the phone is quickly dampened when she realizes that she hadn’t even sent out any applications (at least not after that last one which had eventually led to a computer-generated version of ‘It’s not you - it’s just your lack of experience’. Which in turn had led to a long, lonely night spent sobbing in front of the TV while gulping down two whole bottles of cheap drugstore wine).

So if  _she_  hadn’t sent something in…

 _Reddington_.

She storms into his office, feeling decidedly like the righteous incarnation of a flesh-become hurricane - destructive and raw and filled to the brim with full-fledged rage. She doesn’t even bother to knock, just throws the door open wholly uncaring of the cautiously balanced stack of research papers that loses its momentum and tumbles to the ground in a wild whirlwind of white right before her feet.

Reddington doesn’t seem to be too upset about the mess she has created either. He looks utterly unfazed, so much so that Liz secretly thinks he must have expected her.

(Still, for a flicker of a moment she can’t help but be disappointed that she doesn’t find him in a compromising situation that could be used against him - caught in the throes of passion with a pretty freshman, or in the midst of shoving college property into his overly expensive briefcase to sell online.)

“How  _dare_  you go behind my back like that?”

“If you’re talking about Harold then I’m sorry to disappoint you. I haven’t asked him to hire you. I merely mentioned having been fascinated by your latest essay on The Good Samaritan.”

Searching his face for any hints of sarcasm, Liz finds her rage slowly ebbing away when she realizes that he’s being truthful.

“You’ve read my essay?”

(No one ever has. Even her father had simply smiled at her, his pride in her undamped by the fact that 'this is too complicated for me to understand, butterball’.)

“I thought it was positively riveting. Especially how you-”

As he rambles on (-giving her far more credit than she probably deserves for what little part she actually played in this particular serial killer’s capture-) Liz takes a hesitant step forward before sinking down in the seat across his desk.

When Reddington eventually trails off, a silence spreads between them that feels almost tentative. Hopeful. And it’s then that Liz realizes that right now, she is holding all the cards. That he has left her in charge to decide on the tone of their future interactions.

And well, if he can swallow his pride to become a decent person, then so can she.

“I’m sorry that I called you an old, white man.”

To her surprise, Reddington huffs out a warm chuckle, and just like that Liz can feel the tightly-knit ball of anxiety sitting heavy in her stomach uncoil.

“Well, that’s not something I can argue with.”

Silence stretches between them and even though Reddington doesn’t seem to mind the quiet, it makes Liz feel rather uneasy. Faltering under his intense gaze, Liz gives an awkward smile and wonders if she should fill their conversational hole with a quick excuse to leave, or if she should steer them back towards the hesitant - but promising - beginnings of their previous discussion.

However, before she can decide on a course of action, Reddington’s lips twitch into a hopeful smile.

“Would you like to grab a coffee?”

Liz bites her lip in thought but quickly finds that his offer is surprisingly easy to answer.

“Yeah, alright.”

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take Liz long to revisit her initial assumptions about him.

Oh, she stills believes that he is lonely, yes. That most of the relationships he upholds in his life are either superficial or work-related, a set of mutually beneficial symbioses. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t interested in a friendship that isn’t shallow or meaningless.

(At least that’s what she likes to think.)

Soon enough, Liz dismisses the larger-than-life image of the unapproachable and altogether distant Admiral Reddington she had first created in her mind. Instead, she replaces it with that of  _Red_  - the man whose face lights up whenever he passes her in the hallway, who saves the seat next to the almost-but-not-quite broken vending machine for her because he knows it’s her favorite spot in the entire attic break room.

The man who brings her coffee or chocolate treats from his trips to the in-campus café or the little German bakery two blocks away. Who occasionally stops by her office in-between lectures to discuss an article he had recently read and thought she’d enjoy as well.

But also the man who dragged her out of her seminar room to ask her opinion on an important ‘naval emergency’ - which apparently was some kind of code for asking her to join him for Chinese takeout in the winter garden (which - strictly speaking - was exclusively reserved for graduation ceremonies, but which didn’t seem to stop him from elegantly climbing over the piece of rope serving as a makeshift barricade, anyway).

Liz quickly finds that – although she didn’t hit it off too well with Admiral Reddington – she gets along quite well with Red.

 

\--

 

“Lizzy,” Red sighs, putting down the fork with which he had been poking disinterestedly at his lunch for the last ten minutes.

“I am facing a dilemma. There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but it could be a tad too personal and I wouldn’t want to offend you and upset the current tides of our amicable friendship.”

There’s a silent ‘again’ ringing after his words, but Liz shakes it off. Reaching for her drink to take another sip of the chocolate chip & caramel flavored milkshake - her favorite - Red had so thoughtfully picked up for her on his way to work, Liz gives a noncommittal hum as if carefully considering his words.

“Well,” she says after just a moment, “you let me hide under your desk when the dean tried to pester me into chaperoning the graduation ball, so I think it’s safe to say that we’re past the point of being superficial colleagues who don’t discuss their private lives.”

Red hums low in his throat before clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“Something for which I believe you still owe me. If you hadn’t suddenly been  _unavailable_ , then dear Hughes wouldn’t have talked me into signing up.”

A sly grin steals over her features as she remembers the whole incident. How she had sat perched on Red’s desk, animatedly discussing her latest profile on a serial killer they called ‘The Alchemist’ when she had suddenly heard the Dean’s voice drifting in through the open office door. Within seconds she had scrambled from her makeshift seat - almost knocking various trinkets off Red’s desk - and ducked past Red’s legs beneath the desk (for some reason, the startled gasp that escaped him at her impromptu-dash had made her heart seize inside her chest. At the moment, she had simply shaken it off as a side effect to a blockbuster-esque escape).

“Oh come on, he’s been trying to get people to sign up for it for weeks now. It’s not my fault your reflexes aren’t quick enough.”

An amused smile flickers over his face, but after just another moment he sobers up, the humor on his face replaced by a concerned frown. Back to more serious things then, Liz thinks.

“You aren’t dating Donald, are you?”

Whipping her head up from where she had been poking at her Caesar salad, Liz raises her eyebrows at him, feeling more than just mildly confused. Red doesn’t say anything either, just stares at her, face unreadable and eyes dark.

“Why would you think that?”

“I always thought you two were rather close.”

Liz shrugs. “We get along well enough.”

When Red doesn’t say anything else, Liz puts her own fork down and pins him with a fixed stare.

“What made you think differently?”

“Ah,” He looks a bit sheepish now, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a bashful grin. “I may have accidentally walked in on him and Professor Navabi.”

“Well, that was a long time coming. They’ve been dancing around each other for months now.”

“At first I thought that maybe Donald was cheating on you, but I simply don’t peck him for the type.” Red admits after a short pause. “And then I wondered if maybe you two had a more…  _open_  relationship. A less conventional one.”

“ _Less conventional_? Just how old are you exactly.”

Red ignores her good-natured stab at his age and pushes further. “So I take it you are interested in a more traditional relationship?”

Liz shrugs her shoulders. “I guess.”

Seemingly satisfied, Red nods to himself and Liz takes it to mean that their conversation is free to move on to other topics. Turning her attention back to her salad, she wonders how Red managed to season the chicken so perfectly. Maybe he wouldn’t mind teaching her some day; Liz could very well do with some basic survival skills like making food that isn’t either burnt beyond recognition or too spicy to be eaten by anyone with functioning taste buds.

When she looks back up to compliment his cooking, Liz freezes when she finds him staring at her. A sudden rush of warmth races through her as she realizes that he must have been looking at her the whole time.

“What?” She snaps, suddenly feeling flustered. Did she have something on her face? Or maybe he was just being weird again, and-

Red smiles and quietly turns back to his own lunch.

“Nothing, Lizzy. Everything is just fine.”

 

\--

 

When Cooper finally gets back to her she doesn’t feel half as happy as she had thought she’d be.

 

\--

 

Exhaling a longsuffering sigh through her drawn-down lips, Liz slouches further into the cast-off cushions covering her favorite seat in the attic staff room (she’d first come to avoid Red, she’d sawn the light that fell in lovely, sprinkled patterns through the ceiling windows. She’d stayed).

“Useless,” she murmurs to herself as she glares down at the hastily scribbled list lying in her lap. It’s an old habit she had picked up from her father - taking note of every conceivable argument for and against something before making a life-changing decision. It worked most of the time, too. Helped her to decide on a university, and whether to hang on to her beat-up ex-boyfriend or if she should finally follow her friends’ advice and ditch him for good.

But this one proves to be far trickier.

So far, her list for taking Cooper up on his offer to join his team down in D.C. was embarrassingly small - reduced to a barely legible  _Dream Job_. Which was a whole disaster in itself because  _of course_  she should jump at this chance that had been thrown her way. After all, this was exactly what she had been working towards for years now.

And still…

For some reason, Liz can’t quite get Red out of her head. What would he say? Would he be happy for her? Or would he be sad to see her go?

Liz rolls her eyes at herself. Of course Red would tell her to take the job. Hell, it’s only thanks to him that she’s been given this chance (no matter how much he’d protest that it was all due to her own efforts). He’d probably never speak to her again if she let this chance pass her by.

It’d make him happy, she thinks. To see her fight for her dreams.

Sighing, she adds  _Reddington_  right next to  _Dream Job_.

There, that should make things easier. Because joining Cooper’s team in D.C. would make her happy which would make Red happy. Which - in turn - means that they would both be happy.

So why does she feel as if a crushing weight is bearing down on her heart?

With an exasperated groan, Liz pushes the list from her mind and decides that what would actually make this whole dilemma better is a cup of coffee. Preferably a strong one.

She’s busy arguing with the vending machine (or well, kicking some sense into it while re-visiting some of her favorite curses) when an amused voice drifts over.

“Which one of you is winning?”

“Very funny,” Liz grumbles, rattling the machine with the palm of her hand. “Please tell me that we have enough time to run down to the coffee shop before your next lecture starts.”

Red raises his hand to look at his watch, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Far be it from me to deprive you of your caffeine.”

“I’m glad you think this is funny.” Returning to her seat, Liz slumps down a bit ungracefully. Red just laughs.

“Well, if you’ve still got enough energy left to join me for a quick trip down the street, there is this new diner I’ve…” He trails off, his voice growing quiet, and just a second later he rises to his feet – the force of the swift movement bumping his chair into the table next to them. “Actually, I fear I’ll have to skip lunch.”

“Is something wrong?”

Come to think of it, he  _does_  look a bit pale all of a sudden. His face appears almost ashen in the dim attic light, his eyes flitting away from her face to stare at a spot behind her left shoulder.

“No, no. Of course not.” He says, nodding his head as if to convince himself of the truth behind his words. “I should go back to my office now.”

“What? You just got here.”

“I’ll see you later, Elizabeth.”

 _Elizabeth_?

She wants to tease him for his obvious slip, wants to ask him whatever happened to  _Lizzy_ , but he’s already out the door before she can even do so much as open her mouth. Maybe he isn’t feeling well? Or maybe he has something else on his mind - his daughter or an actual naval intelligence emergency or--

As her mind wanders, her eyes fall onto the sheets of paper strewn across the table right in front of her, and all of a sudden a feeling of immense dread weighs down on her as the real reason behind his hasty exit dawns on her.

“Oh no. Nononononono!”

Eyes glued to the list lying openly in front of her now - the letters of Red’s name dancing mockingly before her eyes, draining into each other as tears start to well up in her eyes - Liz thinks that she has really made a spectacular mess of this.

 

\--

 

Before now, Liz had thought that clearing up a simple misunderstanding should be easy enough.

She’d simply have to catch Red alone and apologize, and afterwards they would be free to go back to their shared lunches and easy smiles. Problem solved. But unfortunately, it seemed like Red had taken a page from her book, making it almost impossible to corner him in the quasi-endless halls of Quantico.

Whenever she  _did_  manage to cross paths with him, Red made sure to let her know that he was running late for some meeting or other, and that he would talk to her later (an excuse which she had naively believed the first time around, but which she now understood to be his infuriatingly polite way of saying ‘I really don’t want to see you right now’).

It didn’t help that he was unfailingly courteous and cordial towards her either, forcing a smile and replying to her questions with a professional - albeit monosyllabic - civility.

This impenetrable wall of coldness which he had (so rightfully) erected between them made her heart ache terribly, seizing it in a near-death grip whenever he turned his back on her. It made her feel like an abandoned pet – pitiful and lonely.

(Unsurprisingly, she finds that she misses him terribly.)

 

\--

 

In a desperate effort to reconnect with him Liz signs up to chaperone the commencement party for the freshly-graduated (the dean had looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a heavy dose of suspicion darkening his eyes; after all, Liz had never been one to readily participate in any extracurricular events).

Still, Liz secretly hopes that she’ll be able to corner Red at some point during the evening. Plus, keeping her focus on fixing her relationship with Red kept her from thinking about her flight to D.C. which was scheduled for the next day. She’d still have to pack her things once she got home from the graduation party. But somehow, this seemed more important.

In the same spirit, she makes sure to dress up for the occasion. She buys an unforgivably expensive dress that is made of red-shimmering silk that wraps itself snugly around her curves. If the admiring looks she got from passersbys while she was checking herself out in the changing room mirror were anything to go by, then the dress is a sensible investment which will one day give a good return in cocktails and dinner invitations.

She pairs the outfit with a make-up well done (smoky eyes; she had to look up some online tutorials, but the smoldering flutter of lashes she eventually ends up with is well worth her time and bandwidth). Overall, Liz has to admit that she cleans up nice. So much so, that it would be utterly impossible for Red to ignore her.

Or at least that’s what she’d thought.

When Liz arrives at the party - the smell of cheap alcohol already lingering heavy in the air, outdated disco lights flashing in bright blue and silver hues over the faces of the young and hopeful - it doesn’t take her long to spot him.

Red is standing on the other side of the room, quietly observing the crowd. She can’t help but notice that he looks great; she’s never seen him in a tux before, but there is something about the bowtie wrapped around his neck that makes her want to slide her fingers beneath the band to unwrap it like one would do with a Christmas present.

Liz swallows hard, heart racing away inside her chest, and all of a sudden her hands are starting to feel a bit clammy, too. Just what the hell is wrong with her?

Red must have noticed her staring (or maybe he had simply felt the nervous energy that kept rolling off of her in slaughtering waves, the way it seemed to fill out the whole room with a glowing-grey cloud of mist) because a moment later his eyes meet hers.

She’s unprepared for the pained look that flashes across his face, eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. But then she blinks and Red’s mask is firmly back in place; an expression of carefully-construed disinterest. Without ever having talking to him about his top-secret naval intelligence missions, Liz just  _knows_  that this is what he must look like when he dons on his uniform. Serious and almost regal. Intimidating.

The song changes to something slow-paced, and Liz hopes that Red’ll make his way across the room to her now, that he will hold out his hand in that endearingly old-fashioned way of his.

Manners, always.

They’d dance, she thinks. Her hand engulfed in his, warm to the touch. He’d pull her closer, silently encouraging her to rest her head against his broad chest just above his heart. She’d close her eyes and listen to the beats of his heart, his breath ruffling her hair as he’d press a kiss to the crown of her head.

It’d be quite perfect, truly.

But of course none of it is real. Because the next moment Red ducks out of the room and Liz is once again left with the grueling sensation of a dropping stomach and the shattering remains of her idle daydreams.

Still, Liz resolutely stands her ground. She won’t chase after him. The night is still young, after all. There’ll be plenty of time and opportunities to talk to him, of that Liz is sure.

So instead, she attempts to focus on actually doing her job: chastising rowdy trainees for drinking one or two or three beers too much, reprimanding the DJ whenever he plays a song that could be considered a tad too offensive, looking after disillusioned girls and heartbroken boys, and - whenever the evening affords her a quiet moment to catch her breath - chatting with Ressler.

However, when Red still doesn’t show up half an hour later, Liz finally finds her patience running out, stretching into ever-thinning strands of poise that are about to unfasten at any moment now.

She can already feel the ire rising up in her, filling her out with an angry, vibrant red like a blank page in a coloring book, spreading through her veins like quickhanded poison.

If Red doesn’t want to talk to her, then  _fine_! She won’t force him to. But he could at least be a decent person and actually do the job he signed up for instead of leaving her stranded in the middle of a havoc-wreaking whirlwind of drunk graduates and celebrating trainees.

The bastard.

Clenching her hands into tight fists (a precautionary measure in case she should unexpectedly run into Red and feel like giving in to the growing urge to punch him in the face), Liz turns to Ressler and leaves him in command of the festivities - at least until she has managed to track Red down and drag him back to deal with this on-the-verge-of-escalating debacle.

Pushing through the doors and out into the vast hallways, Liz briefly allows herself to revel in the onslaught of fresh air that causes her lungs to expand in silent gratitude before fumbling for her phone and punching Red’s number into it (he’s on her speed dial, just before Ressler but after her favorite Chinese restaurant).

He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the hell are you?! You’re supposed to help me with the chaperoning - I had to ask Ressler to pitch in!”

“You sound as if we’re tasked with looking after a hoard of 4-year olds.”

“Drunk post-graduates are a lot worse, trust me.”

Red’s only response is a noncommittal hum, and Liz finds herself slowing down until she comes to stand in the middle of an empty hallway. Suddenly, it feels as if the wind has been ripped from her sails, because this is the first real conversation she’s having with him ever since she put her foot in her mouth, and it’s not going according to plan. At all. Because he isn’t here with her, to look into her eyes as she tells him what a mess she’s made of this and could they please just go back to the start, go back to a packed lecture hall and hushed whispers and first impressions?

The silence between them stretches and Liz can feel her pulse starting to race, jumping at the chance to fill the quiet with a series of painfully loud staccato heartbeats.

“I’m sorry.” She says eventually, her voice barely above a whisper and yet it seems to ring in the empty halls, echoing back to her in a mockingly cruel parody. “For that list. It wasn’t…”

Trying to collect her thoughts, Liz takes a deep breath. The cold air pushing into her lungs does wonders to her rapidly beating heart and the fog of restless apprehension clouding up her brain.

“You didn’t see the other side.” She eventually says and surprises herself by how rushed she sounds, words tumbling together into a heap of tangled-up syllables and sounds. But she’s afraid that he’ll interrupt her. That he’ll hang up on her without giving her a chance to set things right.

“You didn’t get to read about the things I’ll miss if I leave.” Drawing in a breath, Liz begins.

“I’ll miss talking to you first thing in the morning when you stop by my office with coffee and a smile. How excited you look when you tell me about what you’ve got planned for your classes that day. How you ask me about my day and if I’ve slept alright and how my next publication is going along.

“I’ll miss our shared lunches. All those stupid hole-in-the-wall places you keep dragging me to just so you can try some raw duck eggs or something equally disgusting.

“Hell, I’ll even miss going to those boring staff meetings. I’ll miss walking into a room and knowing you’ll be there, saving me a seat. I’ll miss how you smile whenever you see me, how you’ll actually listen to what I have to say. How you always make me feel special and important. I’ll--”

Her voice catches in her throat and Liz swallows hard as she blinks back the sudden sheen of tears burning in her eyes.

“I’ll miss you, Red. A lot.”

Her admission - whispered so quietly that for one dreadful second Liz isn’t even sure if he’s heard her - is met with a stifling silence that goes on and on. It’s possibly the most painful sound in the world, Liz thinks. This lack of words between them creating a purgatory of uncertainty. But now that she’s said them, it’s impossible to take the words back - even if it’s scary to put herself out on the line like this, to touch her heart to a subject so dear only to have it pass by unacknowledged like a ship in the night.

Finally, she can hear Red draw in a breath.

“Don’t you find it fascinating? How this whole night seems to vibrate with promises? Commencement - the beginning of something new? So many possibilities and so much potential.”

Her stomach drops with disappointment at the abrupt change of topic. Still, if Red is talking to her again then that’s something at least. She can live with the heartache.

“I still remember the night of my graduation party, being cornered by Lucie McKinnon in an empty hallway just after I had snuck out for a smoke. It felt almost like a dance - how she would take a step forward and I would take a step back… Eventually, I found myself pressing her gently against the wall.”

Her feet take a step back, heels scuffing against the wall behind her even as she leans slightly back to rest against the row of lockers. The metal feels pleasantly cool against the tingling skin revealed by the low-cut back of her dress. Chilling.

“I would lean in close,” Red’s voice continues in her ear, his voice deep. A bit husky even. “Trace my fingers over the skin of her neck. Feel her pulse beating rapidly against her skin.”

Without being aware of it, Liz slowly brings her hand up to touch her fingers to the side of her neck before slowly dragging them over her flushed skin down to the sloping valley where her neck meets her shoulder. Her touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, skin thrilling for more. Her breathing has started to quicken too, escaping past her parted lips in a rush of silent gasps.

It takes her a moment to realize that Red has gone quiet.

And then a hoarse, broken whisper.

“Lizzy.”

Her eyes fly open at once as she realizes that the voice hasn’t sounded through the phone, but that Red is standing right in front of her, phone still pressed against his ear despite the mere three-feet distance gaping between them.

He’s gone completely still too, and if it weren’t for the quickened rise and fall of his chest he could almost pass for a statue.

And the look on his face -  _god_. Liz can feel a shiver running down her spine. Red looks so raw, his gaze so intense that it makes her feel naked and vulnerable, as if he could see right through her.

Suddenly, her heart is racing in her chest as if it’s trying to climb up into her throat. Without tearing her eyes away from him - unwilling to blink so as not to miss a single second of this moment - Liz lets her hand fall back to her side before slowly nudging it between her lower back and the locker, trying to ground herself by dragging her trembling fingers against the cool metal pressing into her back.

“Red.” She finally whispers, the sound barely above a shaky exhale of breath caught in the tense silence ringing between them. He gives a slight nod of his head and swallows; Liz can see the movement of his Adam’s apple under the pale skin of his neck, can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the stretch of bare skin just above the collar of his shirt and bowtie.

“I’ll miss you too, Lizzy. Terribly.”

Her eyes close on their own accord, a slow smile spreading over her lips. She probably shouldn’t feel this happy, she thinks. Because this changes nothing. She’ll still have to leave in the morning, and Red - Red will stay right here, regaling sophomores with warm smiles and stories about fishing trips.

And yet she can’t quite help it. Can’t quite clamp down on the rush of feelings flowing through her - as if a floodgate has been opened. There’s the heady scent of hope, excitement. The vibrant fluttering of her heart as her insides tingle with the force of all-encompassing--

 _Love_.

And wow, somehow she isn’t half as shocked by that realization as she’d have thought. It’s almost as if she’s secretly known all along. A secret carefully harbored, cradled and nurtured inside her chest.

Opening her eyes at last, Liz beams up at him only to find her joy mirrored on his face, and all of a sudden it feels as if her body isn’t nearly big enough to contain all this happiness that keeps threatening to swallow her whole.

And really, there’s only one thing left to do. The logical course, so to say.

Liz takes a step towards him and leans in, her eyes flitting to his mouth the way they seem to do so often when he’s close by. Strangely enough, it helps to soothe her nerves. Because even if she’s fairly certain that he won’t push her away, Liz somehow can’t bring herself to look him in the eye, afraid that she has misread him somehow, that she’ll find regret or pity etched onto his features.

But then she’s tipping onto her toes and bridging the distance between them.

It’s not a kiss made out of sparks and sprinkling electricity, nothing like the passionate embraces in Pilcher movies, or the chaste-but-heartwarming pecks in Austen novels. This kiss isn’t a wild thing clawing at her with its teeth, ruthless and untamable in its devotion.

Instead, it’s just perfect. Slow and sweet – and even a bit shy.

It’s stomachs filled with butterflies, heart bumping against her ribcage like a bird dying to surge into the sky. It’s hesitant touches – fingers trailing and tugging, and Liz sighs when she feels his hands on her skin, his palm resting against the small of her back, pulling her closer. Everything is warm and wonderful, and Liz thinks that she’d be quite content if she could just stay in this moment forever.

But somewhere in the distance a door slams shut, the ensuing noise loud enough to make them jump apart like guilty co-conspirators. Liz looks up at Red, searches his face for any sign of regret or discomfort now that they’ve been thrown back into the here and now. But what she finds instead has got to be the most adorable caught-in-the-headlights expression she has ever seen, the way his eyes are opened wide, his lips slightly parted.

It dawns on her then: how utterly ridiculous this is. How giddy and lighthearted she feels all of a sudden - all because of this unexpected, new development between them; this situation that has unfolded like a paper origami made of pure happiness.

Liz giggles, and he laughs.

“Maybe we could-”

“-take this somewhere more private?” He finishes, wiggling his eyebrows in an overly suggestive manner.

“Yeah.”

“My office?” Red suggests, taking a step closer. His hand comes up to rest against her hip, palm gliding over the flimsy fabric of her dress, fingers spreading to rub the silk between his fingers, bunching it together before tugging at it - a bit teasingly.

Liz swallows hard as she feels another rush of heat racing right through her.

“Your office is on the other side of the building.”

Red scoffs a laugh, clearly amused. “Impatient, are we?”

And because he is just a little too patient and composed, Liz grabs a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him  _hard_ , drawing his bottom lip between her teeth to gently nip at it. The startled groan that vibrates in his throat - a lovely, low hum - does wonderful things to her confidence.

When she finally pulls away, he is breathing fast and Liz inwardly preens at the sight: Red, slack-jawed and a bit disheveled. It takes him just a moment too long to compose himself again, slowly - lazily - blinking his eyes open to reveal the green of his irises swallowed up almost completely.

“Well, Lizzy. It seems that we have a problem because I’m certainly not going to ravish you-” He pointedly ignores the amused giggle that bubbles past her lips. “-in a  _broom closet_.”

Well, Liz thinks as she bites her lip and mulls it over. He  _does_  have a point, she supposes.

Still, she has never really considered the best place to make out with a fellow member of staff before which is why she is currently having such a hard time coming up with a suitable idea. It’s just that she’s never really thought about Ressler this way, and up until now Liz hadn’t even been aware that some part of her had (for some time now) wanted to claw Red out of his shirt and pants.

“My car is parked right outside?”

Red just stares at her for one beat, two beats. But then he nods and with a mischievous smile spreading over her lips, Liz grabs his hand and pulls him along. From there on, it’s all a bit of a blur. Her heart is beating a tad too fast, excitedly jumping up and down and left and right inside her chest - it makes it hard to focus on anything that isn’t the feeling of Red’s hand clasped tightly in her own, palm to palm, pulse to pulse.

What she _does_  remember is this: The way the cold night air hits her flushed skin when they step outside. How Red presses her gently up against the door of the car as she fumbles away with her keys, hands trembling from nerves and the adrenaline that keeps coursing through her veins. How he trails a string of barely-there kisses along her neck and collarbone while his hands span over the exposed skin of her thighs before slowly venturing up higher to cup her ass.

And of course there is also the growl that rumbles through his chest as she presses herself closer to him, impossibly so (the sound is now catalogued in her mind forever; a deep, dark thing that shoots straight to her core).

Despite his rather insistent distractions she eventually manages to open the door, and - turning in his grasp - Liz pushes Red inside before crawling in after him to settle down on his lap. With a quick twist of her upper body she pulls the door shut behind them. All at once, the sounds of the night (the singing cicada, the highway-distant cars, the washed-out music drifting over from the party) are replaced by a prickling silence and their panting breaths.

Without warning, the mood shifts.

It feels as if time is slowing down around them, replacing their previous impatience - this frantic, tangible rawness - with something more tranquil. With every passing second the silence between them expands, and suddenly Liz is  _terrified_  that the spell is broken for good now. That she has somehow messed up and any moment now Red will start to laugh at her, shove her away before launching into another of his stupidly-endearing stories.

Desperate to jumpstart the situation, to breathe life back into the sparking lust of moments before, Liz tugs her dress over her head, allowing her hair to tumble down onto her exposed collarbone and bra-clad chest.

But Red remains absolutely still. Almost transfixed as he stares up at her, his eyes catching the dim light of the moon and stars looming outside, and if Liz were a bit more romantic she’d surely find the right words to sufficiently describe just how beautiful he looks in that very moment, suspended in time with her.

Ignoring the hurried beats of her rabbit heart, Liz forces an unsure smile.

“Everything okay?”

Red smiles up at her and it somehow soothes her agitated nerves in an instant.

“I was merely thinking that I’m glad we met at this point in our lives.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m glad I didn’t meet you until now. Because I think that if I had met you in college, I would have been  _indescribably_ smitten.”

And wow, Liz has to work hard on suppressing the burst of lighthearted laughter that is trying to bubble directly out of her heart and past her lips.

“And how is that any different from now?”

Red huffs out a breathless chuckle and the sound makes her heart skip a beat.

“I don’t think you would have liked me very much back then.” Liz opens her mouth but Red beats her to it. “And don’t say ‘how is that any different from now’.”

She throws a teasing, lop-sided smile his way but stays silent.

“It’s just that… I am certain that if we had met in college,” Red pauses, trying to collect his thoughts, and Liz takes the time to study the little crease right between his eyebrows. She wants to trace it with her finger, wants to smooth it away even as a pained smile spreads over his features.

“I think you would have broken my heart quite irrevocably.”

Oh. Well.

How could she possibly counter such an admission and that sad smile that steals over his face right after - and the fact that he tries to pass it off as nonchalance when it is anything but (when it is so raw and vulnerable instead) is almost enough to break her heart.

All of a sudden, the words are escaping her - now that there is so much she wants to tell him: Because no, actually, she is pretty sure that they would have been great no matter the time or place. Because he is Raymond Reddington and she is Elizabeth Keen, and no matter what lies between them - be it first impressions or misunderstandings or gaping oceans - they can make it work. There’s no doubt about that.

Quenching down on the violent flutter of her heart, Liz slowly brings her hands up to frame his face, thumbs tracing over his impossible sharp cheekbones. She watches - just slightly mesmerized - as Red closes his eyes, his breathing quickening. It’s the most beautiful sight.

Heart in her throat, she gives him a wavering smile. And because she can’t let him wait any longer, Liz leans down and kisses him. She makes sure to pour everything into this kiss – all the things she’s left unsaid, the way he makes her feel as if her whole body has been set aflame – so wonderfully alive.

And well, she has never had sex in a car before.

Somehow, she had always found the idea rather unappealing: stuffy air heavily fragranced with salty tangs of sweat and the distinct smell of beat-up cars, the lack of space causing cramps and muscle pains, the stick shift stabbing painfully into the small of her back as she’d try to twist her body this way and that, her naked flesh - feverishly hot to the touch, and flustered - sticking unpleasantly to the cheap vinyl of her backseat.

Overall, it had sounded very much like something she’d gladly pass up on.

But this - with Red, right here - is nothing like she’d imagined.

Because Red actually takes his time with her. He’s so tender, so sweet and thoughtful.

There is no frantic pawing at clothes, no scrambling around to find a position that actually works without either of them ending up with a strained neck or twisted wrists. Instead, Red makes sure that she is comfortable, searching her face for any hints of discomfort or hesitation. She can barely suppress her whimpers - her voice trembling with tightly-wound adoration - whenever he interrupts his explorations of her body to return to her face just so he can press a gentle kiss to the corner of her lips, or brush the hair out of her eyes.

And oh, the look in his eyes. So wonder-wounded that it causes her heart to melt.

Liz exhales a blissful sigh and closes her eyes, allowing herself to focus - for one small, wonderful moment - solely on the all-encompassing feeling of whole-hearted contentment that surges through her veins.

 

\--

 

Later that night, Red is sitting on her bed, legs stretched out in front of him as he leans against the headrest. His eyes follow her around the room as she picks up book after dress, folder after blouse, throwing one thing after another onto an unsorted pile of things she’ll need in the upcoming week - a sort of prolonged ‘get-to-know-you’ session with Cooper’s team before she’ll finally move to D.C. permanently two weeks from now.

All the while, Liz keeps stealing glances at Red, trying to discern his feelings on seeing her bundle her life into a small, travel-sized bag.

“I’m not going to stop you, Lizzy. I’m not going to hold you back from achieving your dreams.” He had told her earlier, back when they had shuffled unceremoniously around her car, bumping their elbows against the windows and trying not to knock each other over in the process. Pulling on her dress had taken an immense effort; her hands had been shaking with nerves and the remnants of adrenaline running through her.

At his words, Liz had felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had been so glad that he understood. That he wouldn’t try to talk her into staying (because right now, Liz wasn’t sure if she had the strength of mind to tell him  _no_ ).

Which of course didn’t mean that this wasn’t hurting like hell. In fact, it felt as if a huge void was clawing at her heart, a black hole gaping inside her chest, pulling her thoughts into a spiraling swirl of gloom that made her feel as if she were about to implode into nothingness.

Because the mere thought of possibly never seeing him again is almost as painful as the knowledge that he would one day find someone else. She can just see it too. How he’d fall in love and start over anew, and Liz would turn into a fleeting memory - something he would briefly remember whenever he’d prepare his notes for the lecture on the Deer Hunter, or whilst scrolling past  _Silence of the Lambs_  on Netflix.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, Liz pretends to consider a pair of shoes.

“What are you thinking?”

“Hmm?” Seemingly caught up in his own world, Red blinks slowly before focusing his attention on her. “There is something I’ve been wondering about. You once told me that you were looking for a more traditional relationship.”

Liz abandons her work to look up at him through her eyelashes. Her heart flips inside her chest, but still she stays silent, impatiently waiting for him to go on.

When he finally does, the hopeful note in his voice is almost enough to leave her breathless.

“I was just wondering if a long-distance relationship would be too unconventional for you?”

Heart bursting - sprinkling her chest with sparks of joy - Liz feels a bright grin stretch over her face.

“Yes,” she nods eagerly, scrambling off the floor to throw herself at him, slinging her arms around his middle and rejoicing in the way his chest vibrates with barely-contained laughter right beneath her cheek. “We should definitely do that.”

“I’m so glad you think so.” He says and presses a kiss against the crown of her head (it feels even better than she’d imagined).

They fall quiet again, and Liz is almost about to drift off - things half-packed, her flat in a chaotic disarray of clothes and books and papers – and yet she couldn’t possibly move again. This moment is simply too precious, too perfect. For once she feels wholly content, her heart filled out with utter joy. Her head is pressed against Red’s chest, his heartbeat tugged safely beneath her ear – the most soothing lullaby.

But then a thought flashes through her mind, and she can’t help but giggle.

“Lizzy?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” She presses further against him, hiding her smile in his shirt. “Tell me, Red. Would you ever say to me _Stay, if you loved me, you’d stay_?”

Once again his chest rumbles with a heartwarming chuckle, and Liz realizes that she’d never have anticipated just how much she would come to love this sound. Love this man.

“No, Lizzy. Not in a thousand years.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated!


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